Notes
by i-swear-we-were-sufinite
Summary: Berwald is infatuated with the boy who sits in front of him in history class. If he wanted to turn his daydreams into something more, he needed to talk to him. High school AU
1. Chapter 1

History class was the worst part of Berwald's day.

As one of the tallest students in the class, the teacher decided to put him in the back of the room. This wasn't so bad; he could see fairly well and it wouldn't be fair for the other students if they had to move around his head just to see what was on the board. The subject was interesting, as well. It was, in fact, one of his favorite subjects. Perhaps he had a chance of enjoying it, if he could actually pay attention. That, however, was not the case.

One student made history hell, and he didn't even know it. Tino Vainamoinen took his seat idly every morning, his large purple eyes half-asleep and his mind only half focusing. He scribbled notes to his friends, as he had been moved so many times for talking around others. Sometimes he sipped coffee he smuggled into the classroom, and other times he slept on his desk. Berwald watched his every move. He stared at the back of his head, focused on nothing but tufts of pale blonde hair. He heard nothing but the occasional sound of his laughter or his slow, sleeping breaths. While he watched, Berwald's heart stuttered and his chest squirmed. The lesson didn't exist, not as long as he was in front of him. Sometimes he got headaches and stomachaches from thinking about him too much, and sitting in that same position for an hour was unbearable. To put it simply, Tino was adorable, and Berwald couldn't resist him.

Today was one of those classes. Tino had just taken his seat and was now chatting animatedly to the boy next to him. He had a funny voice; his Finnish accent and constant rambling drowned out all the sound in the room. Berwald wasn't even listening to what he was saying; he just liked to hear his voice. It drove him crazy, yet he couldn't keep his ears away. His voice was cut off as the bell rang and the lesson began.

The teacher's methods were simple. Every day, she lectured off a PowerPoint and the students were expected to take notes. She paused rarely, and Tino would begin to panic as he wrote faster and misspelled words in the process. As she lectured, his slender fingers twitched as he wrote. Part of the reason why he was writing so fast seemed to be so he could find time to write notes to his friends. Because of the speed he wrote at, his handwriting consisted of sloppy, illegible loops. His friends seemed to understand what he was writing; they always discreetly handed him responses to his notes. Berwald watched sadly as he wrote one of these notes to his friend next to him. He wanted Tino to write him one. Tino didn't talk to him. He wasn't even sure if Tino knew he existed. He imagined deciphering those loops, and writing a cool reply, one that convinced the two to become friends.

Or lovers.

He looked down, trying to hide how nervous this thought made him. There was no way Tino would ever feel that way about him. He sighed, directing his attention to the back of Tino's head. Briefly, he imagined his hands running through his pale hair, or his lips against his neck . . . he bit his lip and tried to shake the rhythm of his heartbeat away. Maybe he should ask the teacher for a new seating arrangement.

A piece of paper fell by his foot. It took him a few seconds to notice it. He kicked it with his shoe towards Tino's friend, who appeared a little stressed upon the sight of him. He muttered a nervous "thanks" and handed the note to Tino. Suddenly, Berwald had an idea. If Tino wouldn't give him a note, he would give a note to Tino. Eagerly, he ripped a slip of paper out of his notebook, picked up his pencil, and paused. What would he write? He didn't talk to many people, and when he did, nobody stayed to talk back. It was a mystery as to why this happened, but it always did. He had to write something normal, that wouldn't drive him away. The goal was to become closer. _How are you? _Would he think that's too formal? _I sit behind you, hey? _No, even he knew that was awkward._ You're cute?_ Definitely not.

Finally, he simply wrote "Hey" in his small, scratchy writing, folded the note up, and prepared to toss it onto his desk. His face was burning red, and he could barely hold the paper steady. What if Tino thought it was weird? What if the note landed on the floor and his friend picked it up instead? What if he _laughed_ at it? For a brief moment, he debated whether or not to deliver it. Eventually, he decided that shying away wouldn't bring him any closer, and he placed the note carefully on Tino's desk.

Berwald watched anxiously as Tino unfolded the note. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. It was one simple word, but he didn't know if it was the right word. He couldn't think. All he could do was panic.

Tino turned around. _Oh God, he's looking at me . . . he's looking at me! _He released a yelp of surprise and immediately turned back to his desk, catching the teacher's attention.

"What is going on back there?" She walked straight up to Tino's desk, furious that her lesson was interrupted. He tried to clear the papers that littered his desk, but she noticed anyways. "Passing notes during my lesson? What could possibly be so important as to throw away your education?" Oh no, now he'd gotten Tino in _trouble_, and it was all his fault and he knew he couldn't write an apology note after this, and he couldn't _say_ it . . . "_Imagine if Berwald knew we were talking about him; he'd probably break our necks! Be more careful next time!" _Talking about him? What was Tino saying about him? Tino didn't know him! _Break our necks . . . _his heart sunk. He would never hurt Tino. He wasn't one for violence to begin with. So, this is what he thought about him. It was all wrong and he protested it in his mind. He didn't know how to clear his name. "I'm sure Berwald does not appreciate what you have to say about him. Am I right?" It took him a moment to realize that the teacher asked that question to him, and he was expected to respond. He wanted to say he would never hurt him; that he was too cute to hurt anyways. But the whole class was staring at him, and he was choking on responses. Eventually, he nodded ever so slightly, and he stared at his desk in embarrassment. "Lunchtime, Tino. You will write an apology letter to Berwald during detention. Who else was passing notes?"

"I was! I'm so sorry! We were paying attention, too! It's called multitasking!" The teacher turned towards Tino's friend.

"Eduard, you will join him, then. I am disgusted by both of your behavior, and you will spend the rest of class in the front, taking notes." Reluctantly, the two of them walked to the front; the teacher resumed the lesson, paying extra attention to them. Berwald sunk in his chair, noticing a crumbled piece of paper on the desk in front of him. Curiosity overtaking his sadness, he took it and opened it carefully, his heart fearing what he may find.

_Hey. _

It was his own message, the one that landed Tino in detention. His own scratchy writing on lined paper. The message that was supposed to start something between him and the boy he watched so carefully. He crumbled it and shoved it in his pocket. It was pointless to think he would ever talk to Tino. He never had a chance to begin with; should he thank reality for spelling it out for him? Tino was adorable and perfect, and he couldn't string a sentence together to save his life. People ran away from him, probably because he was so weird. Of course Tino wasn't any different.

* * *

**A/N: **Today (June 6) is Sweden's birthday! Happy birthday, Sve! Other than that, all I can say is that there will be more, and I hope you've enjoyed this beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time lunch was over, Berwald had accepted that the pit in his stomach that emerged in history class was not going away. He tried to focus in his other classes, but all he could hear was Tino's nervous squeak when he read his note, and the teacher's stern voice reading off Eduard's. His mind refused to think of anything but the fact that Tino and his friend were eating lunch with their history teacher, all because his note gave them away. His own food remained untouched as he sat in the library, pretending to read. What were they even doing in detention? Oh, that's right—Tino had to write an apology letter. To _him_. Berwald frowned. It was he who owed an apology. If he hadn't been so convinced that Tino would write a loopy response, and smile at him after he read something cool that Berwald had said . . . he pushed his wishful thinking out of his mind, took out a piece of lined paper, and began to write:

_Tino,_

_ I'm sorry about what happened in history. I shouldn't have tried to give you a note without warning. I just wanted to talk to you. It's my fault the lesson was interrupted and you were caught. I'm sorry. I would never hurt you or Eduard. There's no point in hurting people; it just makes me feel bad. I think you're really cute and that's why I wrote that note I hope you aren't mad at me. _

_ Berwald_

He folded it up and shoved it in his pocket. There was no way he could give Tino that note. He'd already tried once, and it did not go smoothly at all. The letter took about fifteen minutes to write; he needed to choose the right words. Even so, the end result displeased him. It stayed in his pocket as he walked to his math class. He didn't watch where he was going. He drifted through the hallways, thoughts of Tino and his handwriting and his voice and his hair assaulting him. Would the teacher move him away tomorrow, to monitor his social habits? His heart ached at the thought. Though he would finally be able to focus on the lesson, Tino would feel so far away. He dreamed of growing closer to him even though it was impossible. At least sitting behind him gave him the illusion of the possibility. Oh, who was he kidding? Tino didn't like him at all. He could dream all he wanted, but it the end—

He felt himself bump into another student. Books and papers fell to the floor; he scrambled to help pick them up. With a jolt of horror, he handed the supplies to a boy with pale blonde hair and wide purple eyes. Immediately he averted his stare, though his eyes kept wandering back to his soft cheeks, his smooth neck, his quivering hands.

"T-thanks," he stuttered, refusing to stare at Berwald, who found his self-control breaking. Tino just said a word to _him_. Tino spoke to his face! Was he supposed to say something in return? What was he supposed to say? He couldn't even say "hey" without causing problems! His throat shut off all words as he watched Tino's pink face. Oh God, he was cute . . . and he was _talking_ to _him_ . . .

"Y' welcome," he tried, his words nothing but a low murmur. He tried again but found that no sound came out. It was if he could only speak to him once, and that was it. He had lost all his chances—judging by Tino's confused, scared face, he didn't understand.

"Um, well . . . here." Burning red, he handed Berwald a folded up piece of paper with his name on it—in that loopy writing of his. His eyes grew wide as he took it. He knew he didn't write it of his own free will, but that couldn't change the fact that this paper was a note from Tino. His heart melted and breathing became harder as he stared at him. The paper felt smooth beneath his fingers, folded into a crisp square. His handwriting, which Berwald had watched so closely, looked neater than he had ever seen it. Maybe he wasn't in such a hurry to write this time. "I just wanted to say that I'm incredibly sorry, and I was really nervous when writing this because the teacher was watching me with this scary glare, and I hope this letter isn't offensive . . ." Only half of his speech registered in Berwald's mind. His voice put him in a trance, one he didn't want to escape from. Part of him wanted to reach into his pocket and pull out the note he wrote in the library. His hands stayed put, however, as he did not have the courage to do so. Eventually, Tino paused, creating an awkward silence. Berwald's eyes were trained on him and he couldn't look away, though he could sense how uncomfortable Tino was.

"Um, we should go to class now," he stammered. "Before the supervisors yell at us, you know? They're really mean!" _Okay, _he thought, disappointed that their first conversation—if one could even call it that—was ending. _Please talk to me again. Your voice sounds really nice. Your lips look great when you talk, too. _He nodded ever so slightly, which allowed Tino to walk away quickly. He was alone with his thoughts once again—but this time he had a letter from Tino.

* * *

This chapter was really short . . . there's more to come.


End file.
